Alley Friends
by Glitterfly
Summary: Sometimes, making new friends goes beyond becoming a newsie
1. Being Found

"Vó...vó...vózinha...cadê a senhora? Eu preciso da senhora vó, venha, a gente precisa abrir o restaurante..."  
  
Someone was lurking around in the darkness muttering words in a foreign language.  
  
This being New York of the 1900s, neither feature was very surprising. People were constantly wandering about, and strange tongues were no longer strange because of the assortment that was heard daily; nothing was very odd in NYC.  
  
That's why nobody really payed attention to her. So the girl stumbled on, her hair hanging in her face, her right hand clenched over the left, protecting something that couldn't be seen. She was ragged and out of energy, her body was drained of any nourishment, but somehow she managed to roam around. What in her trance-like state seemed to her like eternity, turned out to be in reality, four days. She walked on during the days and and parts of the nights, only sleeping a few hours wherever she could. She would not stop mumbling... at one point, her body could no longer sustain the search her mind demanded, and she simply collapsed in an alley. There, among old crates and stray pieces of clothing, she lay for another day. Her right hand remained covering her left.  
  
It was getting dark and Serce was tired. Her day had been simply too tiring; up at the crack of dawn, she had spent the day working and now, because of a fight that no longer made any sense, she had no place to sleep. While walking, she ran into an old acquaintance with whom she chatted for a few minutes and had a smoke. They talked about the day's headlines (the factual and the made-up ones), selling spots, and profits. With the last puff of her cigarette Serce walked away waving.  
  
Her current "homeless" status didn't bother her that much; she had been in this position so many times for the past five years that she had become accostumed to it. No lodging house or room to crash in? There's always the park, there's always a bench somewhere, a doorstep, or not sleeping at all. She'd probably fix everything soon, so why get miffed? She walked into an alley and looked around her, considering the surroundings and pondering if she could spend the night there.  
  
Undecided, she started poking around a bit to find a mildly comfortable place to sit. Suddenly something crashed behind her. She turned around sharply, her hand instinctively going to the pocket knife stuck in her belt. She saw a couple of turned-over crates and something moving behind them. Then came the moaning: "vovó? Vó? Aonde eu estou?..." It sounded like a girl. A very tired girl.  
  
Serce stepped over a few of the crates and peered cautiously over a trash bin; her hand never left the pocket knife. On these streets, especially at night, you could never be too careful. What she saw, though, made her hands drop to her sides.  
  
Sitting amongst old, torn linen and pieces of wood from broken crates was a frail little person, with glazed eyes gazing at her through a mat of thick, dark hair. The girl looked exhausted, hungry, and completely unaware of anything around her. She kept on repeating: "vó, vó, vó..." Serce realized the girl hadn't even noticed she was there.  
  
She cleared her throat to try to make herself noticed without scaring the girl; but she didn't even respond. Serce now crouched down in front of her and gently pushed away some of the loose strands of hair framing her face. The girl seemed startled, but not afraid. She hadn't removed her right hand from over her left, Serce noticed. She thought she might be hurt and tried to pry the girl's delicate but dirty fingers loose. The girl instantly straightened up and managed to push Serce away with one of her feet. "Não toca! É meu! É meu! É da vovó!!!" she yelled. Serce had lost her balance and was now sprawled on her back. "Wow, calm down! I'se trying ta help you!". She then realized the girl might not speak English. But to Serce's surprise, the girl answered in a clear voice: "I don't need help, I just need my grandmother!" and suddenly she started sobbing. All the sorrow and anger that had been inside her for days now poured out in rivers of tears and random babblings Serce couldn't really make out.  
  
Her heart went out to the poor girl. Serce was oversensitive and she had become used to seeing kids on the street; kids who had been kicked out or ran away from home, ran away from beatings and drunken relatives or boyfriends, kids who were being chased down by the police... she had seen it all. Walking these streets every day to sell papes had made her very familiar with the hardships of city life. She had a turbulent past herself, having been chased away from home by her father and brother who were trying to... well, she didn't even like remembering. She had also spent many days in alleys, crying her eyes out, until she ended up becoming a newsie. So right now, seeing this girl in front of her, she almost saw herself.  
  
Serce just sat there and sympathetically patted the girl's shoulder as she sobbed, then as she cried, then as she hiccuped. She sat through all the stages of letting out the initial grief that were so familiar. The girl finally seemed to get a hold of herself and she looked up, her brown eyes still rimmed with tears, and sniffled. "Wha-what's your name?" she managed to ask. "Serce", she replied. "That's an unusual name", the girl commented. "Yeah, well it's not really me name", said Serce, "but that's what you can call me, all right? That's what everybody calls me". The girl nodded and attempted a smile. "Why do people call you that?" Serce chuckled. "Why, you'se pretty curious now, ain't ya? Well to make a long story short, me old boyfriend was Polish and it means 'heart' in his language. It just kinda stuck"  
  
The girl seemed satisfied with that answer. Unconsciously she removed her right hand from its clench on the left. Serce glanced at her left hand and whistled "phhhew, dat's a nice sparkler ya got on dat finger!" The girl suddenly realized what she had done and grabbed her ring again. Seeming to remember what had made her sad all along, she then let it go and started twirling it around. "My grandma- minha vó – she gave it to me... I love things that sparkle or shine... glittery things..." Serce sensed that this grandma was the source of all the grief and trying to lighten things up a little, said "Well, dat's nice. I guess I'se gonna call you Glittah then. Whatcha think?" The girl smiled again through her tears. "I-I like that." Serce smiled. "Get up, kid. Let's go get ya somethin ta eat. You look like you'se starvin'." As if until then she hadn't realized how hungry she was, Glitter finally looked totally awake. "Oh...but I don't have any money..." Serce smiled. "Dontcha worry yourself bout that. Leave it to me." Glitter got up and brushed herself off, eager to accept. Serce laughed and got up too. "Come on kid, let's move!" They walked out of the alley together, not talking but with a mutual feeling of understanding between them.  
  
" 'Ey, Mario! Marito!" Serce yelled as they stood in the back of an Italian restaurant. She looked at Glitter, who hadn't uttered a word during their 10-minute walk. She was staring off into space, seemingly dazed again. Serce wondered what was this one's story; who was she running from, who had kicked her out, who had died? It was almost always one of those three. Suddenly a plump little man wobbled out the back door. "Serce! Bambina! Where 'ave you been, eh? I amissed you!" Serce smiled at him. "Mario, amico. I'se been around. How'se you doin'? Dis 'ere is me new pal, Glittah. Glittah, dis is me old pal, Mario. Da best cook in all New York!" Mario chuckled and reddened at the compliment, obviously flattered but determined to be modest. "Ey, I'm not da best, maybe one of da best. Como stai,Glitta? " Glitter's eyes suddenly sparkled. "Oh! Italian...that sounds so much like Portuguese... that's my grandmother's language! Um... bem!?" Mario laughed. "Bene, bene! Molto bene!" Glitter seemed radiant now. Obviously something had brought her close to home; it seemed to be the language. Serce was curious.  
  
"So, Serce, awhat awill it abe today, eh? We have some eccelente Fettucini Alfredo, does that asounda agood?" Serce looked at Glitter, whose mouth seemed to water at the mention of food. "Perfetto, Mario. Are you sure you can spare us a plate?" Mario feigned shock. "One? I can aspare ayou athree if I want! Due Fettucini Alfredo, comin aright up!" With that he scampered back into the restaurant. Glitter stared after him; then she glanced at Serce. Serce knew what she was wondering: how she could afford such a meal. She answered before the question was even asked: "Mario's brother used to be me mudder's teacha. She used to bring me here all da time. After she – left – I stopped coming cuz I couldn't pay for da food here on me own. Once I passed by during da day, dough, and he saw me and came yelling out the door bout how I never came around any more. When I told 'im why, he was shocked, offended even. He told me to pass by whenever I wanted, dat at least once a day he'd have a good meal fer me. In honor of me mudder."  
  
Glitter just absorbed this silently, and nodded. "It sounds so much like Portuguese" she said. "Huh?" "Italian, it sounds like my grandma's language. My language..." Serce pulled up two crates and plopped down on one of them. "Sit, kid. We can enjoy da fresh air while we eat." Glitter absently sat on the other crate. A few minutes passed and Mario came back with two steaming plates of pasta plus a loaf of bread. He handed them to the girls and rushed back inside, saying there was a problem in the kitchen and telling them not to be strangers; "adropa by more often, eh? Was nice meeting you, Glitta! Ciao!"  
  
Glitter just stared at the plate for a few minutes, like she didn't believe what was in front of her. Serce had already dug into hers, and tore off a chunk of the bread. "Eat, kid! Eat before it gets cold!" Glitter finally came to her senses and started eating, savoring every forkful. In between bites, she said: "uumm...it reminds me of my grandma's macarrão" Serce decided to wait a bit more before she asked about this famous grandma. She had a feeling she already knew what the answer would be, though. When they were finally done, she looked at Glitter. "So, kid, maybe you should tell me a bit of yer life story. Maybe I shouldn't even be callin u kid, you'se how old exactly?" Glitter stared at her for a full minute before responding. "Dezessete...I'm 17." "Good, so you'se still a year youngah, I can still call you kid!" Serce playfully replied. Glitter didn't even smile. Suddenly, out of the blue, she started crying again. This time, she muttered understandable words. Her story only confirmed what Serce was thinking all along: "My grandmother! She died! Minha avó... They killed her! She was shot... Why? Why? All she did was move here from Brazil so she could take care of me! She had her little restaurant, her own business, she didn't bother anyone... she took care of me and I took care of her and we both took care of the restaurant and that was our life! And it was pretty good... until they came! Two men...with guns....they came for the money... we didn't have a lot, the restaurant wasn't big...so they got angry...and they shot her! They shot her... Vó, Vó, Vó, Vó..."  
  
Again, Serce's heart went out to her. This time she felt close enough to give Glitter a quick hug. "Hey, kid", she playfully punched her shoulder. "I'se real sorry all dat had to happen to you.You ain't the only one I'se heard a story like dat from. But listen, you'se gotta twinkle in yer eye I don't wanna see ya lose, ya hear? Get up and face da world, dat's what we all gotta do." Glitter's sobs once more became small hiccups. Her face was now swollen from all the crying, and weary from the exhaustion. "Tell ya what," Serce said,"we'se gonna get outta heah now and go look fer a place to sleep. I'se a newsie, kid, ya know what dat is?" Glitter shook her head no. "I sell papes fer a livin'. Not exactly yer dream job, I guess, but it can be pretty fun. I can teach ya all da tricks and we can be pardners. Whaddaya say? It'll get you off dese streets and get yer mind off... odder tings."  
  
Glitter looked thoughtful. The only person in the world she was attached to, was dead. The place she used to call home, destroyed. She had no friends to turn to, nobody to help her. This girl had found her in a miserable state, listened to her story, fed her, and now she was offering even more help. She didn't have anything to lose. She looked at Serce and simply said "Thank you". Serce smiled. "So, looks like I got meself a new pardner. And a new friend. Come on kid, let's start walkin'. See if we can find a place to stay from now on." They both got up and left their plates at Mario's back doorstep. "Won't they break or something?", Glitter asked. "Naah, Mario knows where to step when I'se been here", Serce replied.  
  
They started walking off. By that time, it was already pretty late. Serce kept a hand on the pocket knife, and glanced around every once in a while. She was racking her brain trying to remember if she knew of any lodging houses nearby that would still be signing people in at this hour. "So, Glittah. Da first thing ya gotta learn about bein' a newsie is dat: headlines don't sell papes, newsies sell papes.... "  
  
  
  
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"Another great skyscraper built! Right here in New York City! Extract Extract read all about it!" "Glittah!", hissed Serce, "what da heck are ya doin'? Who'd ya t'ink's gonna buy a pape wid dat headline? Plus it ain't 'extract', it's 'extra!" Glitter sighed and pushed a loose strand of hair away from her eyes. Running her fingers through her thick, dark hair for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, she got her ring caught in a few strands. "Ai! Droga…" she exclaimed, while struggling to untangle her hand from her curls. "Sorry, Serce! I really don't know what I'm doing here. I just can't seem to get this right…" Serce sighed, more in sympathy than annoyance. Improving the headlines wasn't exactly easy, especially for newcomers who didn't know what people liked to read about in newspapers.  
  
"'Tis ok, kid. Dis ain't really easy, I guess. Try to watch and loin, okay?" Glitter nodded meekly. She knew Serce had spent her own money to buy both their papes and she wasn't doing much to repay that. "Money scandal exposed in construction of new building in da city! Extra extra! Read all about it!," Serce screeched out at the top of her lungs. "T'anks, mistah. Heah ya go", she said, exchanging a paper for a penny. "See kid? Dat's what its all about. People wanna see misery, corruption, death; all dat's foul in da woild, dat's what dey're interested in;dat's what sells." "But Serce…that's sorta lying, dontcha think?" "Naw kid. It's makin' a livin', by our means, dat's all. They'll git ovah it and read whatevah's left in da pape. Nevah hang around too long aftah ya make a sale, dough, cause some people git mad when dey foist find out 'bout our…" Serce searched for a word that wouldn't seem too deceiving, "ovah-developed headlines." She seemed pleased with that and gave Glitter a hopeful smile, then bounded away to a couple who was passing by.  
  
Glitter tried to feel hopeful in return but couldn't. Her stomach was rumbling; this was about the time she'd have lunch with her grandma at the restaurant. But she had no money to buy food and she definitely wasn't ready to ask Serce to do it for her. She knew the girl was poor and could barely afford her own expenses, much less those of two people. Determined to sell a newspaper, she got up and took a deep breath. "Extra extra –" before she could even think of an 'over-developed' headline to pronounce, she tripped and stumbled onto a passerby. "Hey! Watch where yer goin', missy!" a tough-looking boy, with reddish hair and a sweaty face, said. "Ah- h I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I –" she stuttered. "Aw, save it. Just be more careful." he replied and hurried away.  
  
Her chin started quivering. Before she could help it, a few tears found their way out of her eyes and meandered down her cheeks. Serce was on the other side of the street but had caught the whole scene. She ran back and caught Glitter by the arm. "Kid! What's wrong? Whad did dat muttonhead say ta ya?" "Oh, nothing, Serce, nothing. I'm sorry… this is just too much for me. I simply can't sell!" she blurted out in between hiccups.  
  
A well-dressed elderly man approached them and kindly said, "Oh, little girl, don't cry! I'm sure whatever's bothering you will get better. Here's a shiny nickel for one of those newspapers. Keep the change." Glitter stared at him in disbelief. Serce elbowed her in the ribs, "The pape! Give it to him!" "Oh! Here sir. Thank you very much. Have a nice day." He smiled and strolled off. Serce grinned at her. "Well, who would've t'ought yer foist sale would have such a dramatic touch and good profit?" Glitter giggled. "I'se inclined to tell ya not ta dry dose tears kid, but I don't t'ink dere's many oddah people in da woild, let alone dis city, dat would give ya money outta sympathy." Glitter was already wiping her dirty sleeve across her face. She handed Serce the nickel. "It's yours. I still owe you more, but it's a start." Serce glared at her in mock anger. "Keep it kid. It's yers outta merit. I'll let ya buy me lunch dough." "Follow me, then!" Glitter started walking, then she stopped. "Er, Serce? I don't really know where I'm going." Serce laughed. "All right kid. I lead da way, you buy da food."  
  
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"Kid?" "Yes, Serce?" Glitter answered between mouthfuls of sauerkraut. "Maybe ya should go back ta da Lodgin' House fer d'afternoon. I'se done sellin' my papes and I'd be glad ta sell da rest o' yers now. Seein' dat u're not in such a great mood today an' all…" her voice trailed off. Glitter immediately realized this was a polite way of telling her that she really wasn't' very good at selling after all; not that it came as a surprise. She was glad at the offer, though, because she really didn't feel like going back onto those overheated, crowded streets filled with mean- looking people. Witnessing a shooting had left her a bit paranoid. "Um, ok Serce. If you think that's best." she smiled up at her new friend. Gosh, if only I could show her how grateful I am for all she's been doing for me, Glitter thought. Serce smiled back. "Great, den. Ya know yer way dere? Its practically round da coiner from here." "Yes, I believe I do."  
  
After lunch, Serce and Glitter walked out of Tibby's together. Then they each took a different turn; Serce went left, back to selling, while Glitter went right, back to the Lodging House. 


	2. Joining a New World

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"Cowboy!" Serce yelled across the street, "whadda ya heah, whadda ya say?" A few people turned their heads, hearing a name so odd for the surroundings; Jack Kelly, however, heard his name and searched the crowd for whoever was calling him. Then he saw Serce waving. "Serce!" he crossed over to her, "Guys told me you were back, but I didn't catcha ya dis monin'." They spitshook. "Yeah, I'se back. Wid a friend, in fact." He pulled out two cigarettes from his pocket and offered her one; gladly accepting it, she lit both hers and his. He blew out a cloud of smoke, "Hoid dat too. Scared li'l bundle, apparently. So, where is she?" he looked around. "I sent 'er back to da Lodgin' House. Today was da foist day she tried sellin' an', well…" she ended her sentence by motioning at the bunch of newspapers at her feet. Jack let out a small laugh. "Was wonderin' bout dose. So she can't really sell, eh?" Serce shook her head with a sigh. "Real sweet goil, she is. A yeah youngah den me. Da usual story; no family, no friends… found 'er in an alley. T'ing is, she don't have a penny on 'er. And well, I can't really afford supportin' da both of us. Don't know what ta do…" she ran her fingers through her short, chin-length blondish hair, in exasperation. She wasn't asking for help, and he knew it; she was just venting.  
  
Jack looked at her closely. Serce wasn't known for showing her feelings, much less those of affection. This girl must've really struck a personal chord with her. He fiddled with his red bandanna and tried to sound carefree, "Don't sweat it. You'll figure somet'in out. Feed her for now, and ya know da Lodgin' House fee ain't a problem. Kloppmann won't kick her out for da life of him. She'll just pay him back sometime." Serce chuckled, "Actually da poor kid sorta fed me today. She did sell ONE pape… to some old chap who gave 'er a nickel 'cause she was cryin'." She shook her head quietly. Jack got up. "Hey, da day's too short fer worryin' an' sellin'. Sell now an' worry latah. Need some help wid dose?" he pointed at her papes. Serce glared back at him, "I ain't feelin' dat bad." He laughed. "Sorry. Just an innocent offah. I'se off den. See ya latah." With that he threw his cigarette stub on the floor, and after stepping on it, jogged away into the ever-moving lot of people.  
  
Serce still had a few puffs of her cigarette left, and enjoyed them as much as she could. Jack was right, the day was too short; and not selling was not an option. Her worrying would have to be kept for later. Snubbing out the cigarette with the toe of her boot, she picked up the remaining papers. Taking a deep breath, she yelled the sentence which was probably the one she had most pronounced in all her 18 years of life: "Extra extra! Read all about it…"  
  
  
  
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"Newsboy's Lodging House," Glitter read aloud. "This is it." She paused for a moment before going in. There weren't many girls in there; Serce had told her of a time when the upper floor was completely packed with newsgirls, but after other lodging houses started up, they had spread out. Only a few remained, and they weren't really regular lodgers. Like Serce, they mostly came and went, in between different jobs, different boyfriends, different lives. There was a great number of boys though. And Glitter was shy around people she didn't know well. Yesterday she had met most of them, but still, she wasn't that comfortable.  
  
She realized she had been standing on the doorstep for quite a few minutes now, and she felt she was being watched. Looking up, she saw an eye-patched smiling face staring at her through the window. "Aaagh!" she jumped. The face broke into laughter that was soundless through the glass. She smiled coyly back, glad he hadn't taken it the wrong way. Kid Blink's his name, I think. Odd name… then again, most of these boys' names are odd, she thought, and started ticking them off on her fingers, Swifty, Snoddy, Pie Eater, Racetrack…Bumlets and Skittery? Boots and…Snipeshooter, oh my. Itey, Snitch, Mush…Crutchy, Dutchy, and Specs. Some of them do seem to make sense though…Then there's Jake. Jake is a real name. A dull rapping startled her again. She looked up at Kid Blink and he motioned for her to come inside. Dusting off her pants, she walked in.  
  
Blink bobbed down the stairs, his ever-smiling face still twinkling with laughter. "Heya Glitter! How's it goin'? Whatcha doin' heah? Why were ya just standin' on the step fer hours?' he fired away, a question a minute. She seemed a bit overwhelmed and he laughed. "Sorry," he said. "Take a breath foist. Wanna sit down in da kitchen? I'se starvin', didn't have lunch. Did ya have lunch?", he continued his rambling and she remained silent. He didn't seem to mind though, and she followed him into the kitchen. "Ooops, I forgot, no food heah. I'se gonna go ta Tibby's den, wanna come?" She finally managed to put in a word, "Whoa! You're surely a talker, aren't ya? I'm like that too…sometimes. Anyways, no thank you, I just had lunch at Tibby's with Serce. Guess I'll stick around here a bit." Twirling her hair, she couldn't stare straight at him, her shyness still taking over her; but she was already beginning to feel more comfortable with the friendly newsie. "Well, I'se off den. See ya latah!" He flashed her one last smile and left the lodging house, whistling. He sure is cheerful, she thought. Impressive attitude to have, with such a life…  
  
The lodging house seemed deserted. She assumed everyone was still out selling, or maybe having lunch. Or doing whatever else it was that newsies did. She had only entered their world a day ago, and she still had many things to learn. But she had already noticed that this odd assortment of people, boys and girls, young and older, of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds, were like a family. It made her feel secure in a way, seeing that they were treating her as one of them already. She slowly started up the stairs, pausing everywhere to take everything in; like the sign that said "Speak the Truth", for example. She made her way to the the last floor, where a huge room hosted the few girls' bunks. Serce had said that there used to be many more, when the other girls still lived there, but when they began leaving, Kloppmann moved some to the boys' rooms and sold off a few others. She remembered taking a quick glance into his quarters yesterday; Kloppmann's that is. Right behind the main desk, a small room scarcely furnished. Must be a tough life for him too, running this whole place, in addition to being the closest thing to a harmless parent figure most of these people must have. She knew not all of the newsies in the house were orphans; the ones that weren't didn't seem to be on good terms with their parents, though. Serce wouldn't talk about her father and brother, though she did say they were still alive.  
  
Once she entered the bunkroom, she walked over to the bunk that had been assigned to her by a girl called Hay. She seemed nice enough, and appeared to be in charge of the room. Serce didn't really seem to like her that much; they had apparently had some run-in a while ago. They both seemed to respect each other though, and stay clear of the other's path. Glitter sat down on her bed and looked around. The emptiness of the room, of the floor, of the whole house, suddenly hit her hard. And for the countless time in the last few days, she hung her head and started crying. Not sobbing, though. The quiet kind of crying; not quiet for shame, but quite for reality. For realizing the true impact of everything that happened, and what life will be like from that point on.  
  
She let the tears trickle down, not bothering to stop them. Once they seemed to stop by themselves, she crept over to the washroom and dried her face on a towel. Looking into the mirror, the image of a scrawny girl, red- eyed from crying, hair in disarray stared back at her. She couldn't quite recognize one feature, though: a hollow look in her eyes. The kind of look you get once you notice that all you knew as your life, all your dreams, had been shot away. The kind of look that may be covered up, but never truly healed. Realizing this new characteristic was now a part of her, she turned her attention elsewhere.  
  
Trying to scrub the dirt off her fingers, she realized it was pointless. She was all dirty. Her elbows, knees, arms, feet, everything… part of being a guttersnipe, she guessed. She let out a small laugh. I'm learning new words at least…she thought.  
  
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	3. Hollow Dignity

Dusk was settling in, and Serce still had a handful of papers to sell. People were starting to go home, the working day coming to an end for most of them. She let out a sigh. I can't do dis, she thought, sellin' my own papes is hawd enough with da shoitage of money goin' around. "Extra extra! Read it in da Woild! New buildings built on an old cemetery!". She was becoming desperate. Nobody was buying, her creativity had just about been drained out of her. Sighing again, she made a decision. Tamorrow, Glittah will hafta woik da streets wid me. If she ain't good at bein' a newsie…well, we'se gonna have to git her some oddah job.  
  
The prospect of another job for these kids was practically impossible, though. With no qualifications, hardly any schooling and not a trace of references, who would hire them apart from sweat shops and factories? Even there, they preferred the stronger, more well-built children. Glitter wouldn't fit in either category. And Serce didn't want her to have to hang around with the flash-men. Stealing wallets was a really risky business. Of course, the earnings were far better than more other jobs, but being caught and sent to the refuge was always a powerful menace.  
  
Is Medda hirin'? Serce asked herself, continuing her train of thought. Nah, I doubt it. She just got herself a coupla new waitresses. "Serce!" suddenly she was jolted out of her mind wanderings. Turning her head, she saw Jack walking towards her. "Heya Cowboy," she answered quietly. "Still sellin', huh?" he asked pointlessly, just trying to make conversation; it was a hasty attempt though, one that obtained a glower and no reply from Serce. He made a face. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, "I know it's been a tough sellin' day. No one's got a penny ta spare." Serce accepted this cover-up, and acknowledged his comment with a nod. "True. I'se makin' up da weidest headlines in me life, and dey still ain't buyin'." Jack was reluctant to offer to help her again. So he decided to do something easier. "We can trade 'em back in, ya know. Aftah da strike, we don't hafta eat what we don't sell." Serce smiled; Jack Kelly and his newsboys could never resist a chance to remind themselves and anyone around of the strike they had won. It was an honorable accomplishment, though; she had to hand them that much.  
  
Jack waited for her answer. Although knowing papes could be traded back gave them more sense of security, none of them liked doing it. It was like admitting you couldn't sell as much as you took, admitting your eyes had been larger than your stomach, your pride had been larger than your capacity. Realizing this, he shuffled his feet and turned his eyes away from her. "Hey. Don't worry 'bout it. Ya sold more den yer share of papes today." Serce knew what he was saying was right. She still didn't like the idea of giving back anyone's papers at the dc, though. She heaved another sigh; knowing she had no other options, she gave a quick nod. Jack answered with a nod of his own. "Great. I'se on me way ta da lodgin' house," he said. It was her call whether she wanted his company or not. Serce pondered the situation for a moment. She'd rather do this on her own, she decided. Turning to look at him, she said, "Alright. I'll see ya dere den." Hesitating, she added a quick, "Thanks" before turning and walking away.  
  
Although the newsies were constantly in need of help, asking for or accepting it was never really an explicit deal. They all liked to think they could make it on their own. Relationships weren't permanent, and someday they'd all have to venture out into the world alone. Openly depending on one another wasn't very recommended. Every group has their own conscious or unconscious moral codes; it was no different with the newsies. Truth was, everyone needed to watch their own backs and get used to doing so; they knew they could count on each other, but they also knew they couldn't do it forever. 


	4. Importance of Memories

Glitter sat on the bed, twisting her ring round and round her finger. Outside, the sun had set, and it had become dark. She didn't like darkness. It made her uneasy. Looking over to the foot of the bunk, her eyes caught sight of her tattered dress. She reached over and held it in front of her. It was so dirty, and ragged…when she and Serce had arrived at the lodging house yesterday, the other girls had managed to assemble an alternative outfit for her: a purplish shirt and a pair of grey pants. Kloppmann had a box with quite an odd assortment of clothes and bric-a-brac, mainly left over from former lodgers. The girls hadn't thrown away her dress though; it was folded and placed on her bunk. They knew better than to throw away anything that ever came in with someone. Sometimes what appeared to be a frayed bit of grayish cloth was, in fact, the remnant of a childhood quilt made by a loving old aunt; what, to the naked eye, seemed to be nothing more than a piece of pliable, dull metal was truly the remainder of a family heirloom necklace passed down through generations. Old, dilapidated, or the like, were still brand-new and whole in memory; small things meant the world to these kids.  
  
She was thankful they hadn't thrown away her dress. Apart from her ring, it was the last thing she had left from her family life. It had once belonged to Glitter's mother. Made primarily out of simple, lilac cotton, it had been a gift from Glitter's father when he was courting her mother. Glitter slowly ran her fingers over the striped detail along the neckline, as vague, distant memories tried to become vivid in her mind. She closed her eyes and heard soft chants sung in Arabic, countered with Irish hymns sung in a loud voice. Her features became creased as she tried hard to remember more than that. She couldn't though. As she opened her eyes, the shabby dress in front of her seemed more important than ever. It held memories of both her parents. Picking it up, she ran out of the bunkroom and made her way downstairs.  
  
Dutchy was almost run over by someone bouncing down the stairs. "Oooof! Watch it!" Bending over to catch his breath, he heard a gasp, but couldn't quite place the voice. "I'm so sorry! Are you ok? I didn't see you, I'm really sorry. Are you alright?" Someone sounded very worried. Looking up, he recognized the scared little girl who had arrived yesterday with Serce. Her eyes were still puffy from crying, but she looked much better than the day before. She also looked quite concerned, her brownish eyes opened wide, staring straight at him; her right hand grasped what appeared to be a battered old jumble of cloth. He straightened up and gave a quick nod. "Shoah. I'se fine. Don't worry, dat happens all da time. Someone's always runnin' down dem stairs. Looking fer anyone?" he asked. She seemed lost. "Yes, as a matter of fact…actually, I'm not sure who I'm looking for." He stared at her, looking confused. She realized this, and hurried to continue, "I mean, I'd like to find someone with any sewing materials. I want to repair," she glanced quickly at whatever it was she was holding and tried to ball it up even more, "er, something." Dutchy continued looking at her. "Sorry, 'fraid I can't help you wid dat. Check wid one of da goils."  
  
Glitter's eyes slightly flared up. "Why?" Dutchy looked at her, puzzled. "Why, what?" he asked. "Why check with a girl?" she answered, "Are you saying only girls can sew? Boys shouldn't do it?" He took one look at the frown on her face and almost burst out laughing. "What?" she almost spit out in anger. "Nothin', nothin', sorry," he apologized, barely holding back a grin. "It's just dat you came in heah yesterday, lookin' as meek as a mouse, an' now you'se standin' der, lookin' like you'se ready ta shoot me or somethin'." She blushed, her shyness taking over her once more. "Well, its just that I don't really appreciate it when boys say unfair things about girls. But I should be apologizing to you. You didn't really say anything. I've just been jumpy lately," she sighed. He smiled at her and said, "No hawm done. Dere's a coupla goils in da lobby." He started up the stairs, and she started towards the lobby. Suddenly he turned back, "Hey. Psst, by da way, jist a li'l secret: I know how ta sew perdy good." With a wink, he turned again and went upstairs. Glitter smiled. She didn't know whether to believe him or not, but he had handled the situation quite nicely. She exhaled less than quietly before she entered the lobby; if she was to befriend these boys, running into them then verbally attacking them might not be a very good tactic.  
  
"Fer da last time, NO! I ain't gonna give ya my cigar!" the words floated out of the lobby just as Glitter was about to enter. Looking around, she noticed it had come from the short fellow, wearing the combination of plaids. He looked pretty aggravated and she saw a freckled, younger-looking kid sitting near him, scowling. "You could always steal anuddah," the kid said under his breath. Glitter stifled a giggle at the serious looks on their faces. She squinted her eyes, trying hard to remember their names. Racer? Sniper? No, that doesn't sound quite right, she thought, aha! Yes, Racetrack and Snipeshooter. It pleased her that she was able to remember their names; it was no easy task. Apart from there being over 20 boys in the house, their names were no piece of cake, either.  
  
Across from the two boys sat Hay, the one who appeared to be leader of the girls. Trying to pass unnoticed, Glitter made her way over to here. "Hi Hay," she said quietly. Hay looked over at her. "Hey Glittah,"she replied, "you alright?" Glitter nodded. "Need anything?" She nodded once more. Hay smiled, "Shoot." Glitter looked a bit uncomfortable, but she took a deep breath and went on: "I was wondering if you could tell me where I can find a needle and some thread here. I wanted to…repair my dress." When said aloud, it sounder sillier than it seemed; the dress was beyond repair. But Glitter didn't care. And Hay noticed this. "Shoah. Kloppmann. He knows where all dat stuff is. I don't have a clue, dough. Prolly couldn't tell a needle from a piece of straw." Hay grinned. "Never learned how ta do dat stuff. 'Ey, Kloppy! Go ovah dere to him, goil. He'll tell ya where ya can find it." Glitter smiled and thanked her.  
  
Kloppmann stood behind the desk. It seemed he almost always stood there, and amazingly, he was always busy with something. Right now he seemed to be going through the ledger. Glitter stopped in front of him but was diffident to interrupt. He peered up over his little glasses and gave her a sweet, lopsided smile. "Anythin' I can do fer you, Leila?", he asked. She gasped, shocked to hear her real name. Then she realized he had just been looking at the book. Probably checking the new entries or something, she thought. Apart from her and Serce arriving yesterday, a couple of boys and another girl had signed in today. Glitter shifted her weight. "Well, I was wondering…can I have a needle and some thread?" She was getting tired of asking this question, it was the third time in a row now. Kloppmann grinned. "Shoah. Come on back heah." He disappeared into his little room. Glitter was uncertain whether she should really follow or not. "Ya comin'?" he asked. She cautiously walked round the desk and entered his room.  
  
Kloppmann was on his hands and knees, on the floor, struggling with something under the bed. Glitter looked around in awe. His room looked nothing like what she had thought she had seen yesterday. At a quick glance, it seemed to be an ordinary small room; off-white walls, a bed, table, chair, and dresser. But from the inside, it was completely different. Pictures and drawings were hung all over the walls. Newspaper clippings, pieces of paper with what seemed to be like letters or poems written on them. She approached one clipping and was amazed to see the faces of the very newsies she had met. She recognized almost all of them, except the boy standing smack in the middle, a general's grin on his face, and the boy standing to the far right, sporting a surprised gasp. She read the headline, not realizing she was doing this out loud: "Children's Crusade: Newsies Stop the World." Kloppmann appeared behind her, a small box in his hand. He smiled. "What, dey still haven't told ya 'bout da strike? I'm shoah you'll heah 'bout it, tonight or tomorrow night, tops." She accepted this and asked no questions. She noticed a plaque crudely made out of two pieces of wood, the word 'Strike!' painted on it. Shifting her gaze to other things hanging on the wall, she couldn't help but utter a "Wow."  
  
Kloppmann smiled. "Impressive, ain't it? I try ta keep a concrete memory of anything I can up dere. Got pictures as old as me, as young as you; letters an' poems an' even recipes; anything anyone ever wanted to give me, I drove a nail through it and stuck it to me wall. Each night I look at something different, remembering a certain person." He had a faraway look in his eyes. Glitter didn't want to interrupt his spell, but he did it himself. "Well, heah ya go!", he handed here the box. " Dere's plenty o' line an' thread in dere. You can woik in heah if ya like. Gives ya a bit more privacy." He winked at her, and something told her he let people in his room often, to have time to themselves. She smiled. "That would be very nice. Thank you," she replied, settling down on the chair. "Shoah. If ya need anything, jist let me know. I'll be right out here." With that, he exited the room and left the door slightly open. What a remarkable old man, Glitter thought.  
  
Inside the box were needles and spools of thread of every kind, even a few spare patches of cloth. She got right down to business. Humming softly to herself, she threaded a light blue line and started trying to patch up the hemline of the dress. 


	5. A Memory and a Lesson

Serce made her way home quietly, thinking over her conversation with Jack. Oblivious as she was, she couldn't help taking notice of a little boy standing a few feet in front of her, leaning against a fruit stand. A grimace took over her face as she observed the small child; the tousled dark hair on his head was grubby from city life, and his clothes were as worn out as worn out can be. He had his back to her, and one skinny little hand groped around the rotten apples, all that was left from a day's sale. All the while he seemed to keep an eye out for the vendor, who was conversing with his neighbor about the lousy day they had just had. One dirty little toe stuck out of his decrepit boots, as he stood on his tiptoes to try and see what he was groping at.  
  
Suddenly Serce felt a gush of wind sweep by, and she saw someone else next to the little boy; who quickly vanished. In his place was a similarly dressed, similarly shabby child, but it was a girl. Her dirty blonde hair contrasted with her ruddy cheeks, and she looked to her sides as she tried to steal apples without being noticed. "Mary, hurry up! And get more than one!", came a whispered call from out of the shadows. The girl trembled with fear as she started piling the apples in the upturned hem of her dress, which she held with her right hand. A horse drawn cart came out of nowhere, making a loud splash in a puddle of water and causing the short, stocky owner of the stand to turn in Mary's direction. "HEY! Whatcha t'ink ya doin'? Come back heah!" Even the hairs on her head seemed to shiver as she turned and ran, dropping all the apples in the process of getting away. "Mary!", cried the same small voice from the shadows, "come back! Come back!" The two voices mingled, the loud scary voice of the fruit vendor, and the small, frightened voice of the little person who remained out of sight. "Come back!" She ran, and ran, and ran.  
  
Strangely enough, it was a horse drawn cart that awoke her from this daydream, just in time to see the vendor turning towards the little boy. "Kid! Cheese it!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. Turning towards her for a brief moment before he ran away, the child showed a gratitude in his eyes that was best to remain unspoken. It was the kind of look you give someone you've never seen before, but at the same time feel like you know them, because you feel like they know you. And indeed they know you; they were you.  
  
Cursing in some unintelligible language, which Serce thought to be Greek, the vendor shook his fist, but made no move to follow her. It was late, and he was just too plain tired; the rotten apples wouldn't have been a great loss anyway. The only thing that aggravated him was the possibility of word getting around that a stinky little street rat had swiped some of his merchandise. Since everyone was too tired and busy at the moment to pay attention to his or her neighbors, no one had noticed the ruckus, and therefore, he saved face.  
  
Serce didn't read all of this from the look he was giving her though, and walked briskly away. A groan escaped her as she remembered that she wasn't going home just yet, but she had to pass by the distribution center first. "How'd I ferget, anyway? I'se still luggin' around dis big pile o' papes." With that, she turned right on the street that was just ending, and looked to her sides as she passed through the big gates.  
  
~_*_~  
  
The sound and smell of tobacco being chewed was unmistakable, especially when the person chewing it was Terrance Focks. The tall, skinny man seemed to eat nothing, but keep that disgusting wad in his mouth all day, at all times. That, along with his scowl, made up two of his most prominent characteristics. As daylight perished and night started to invade the city, his scowl got even worse, and the voracity with which he masticated also seemed to augment. Focks hated his job, and what he hated the most was having to go home late because of the children and young adults that made up the selling body of the newspaper that employed him. Ever since the confounded strike, he had orders to take back the papers they didn't sell and refund their money. Since this required more of his time, which he already considered too precious to spare, it's needless to say he was never in a good mood at nightfall.  
  
All the newsies were well aware of this fact, and Focks was well aware of the reluctance it brought upon some of them to return their papers. Thus, those who were easily intimidated hardly ever took more papers than they knew they could sell. However, as luck would have it, 'wimpy ones', as he referred to them, were pretty rare, and usually consisted of newcomers to the job. They were usually as scared of returning their papers as he was annoyed of having to be there to refund them. So when they did have to show up, he liked to amuse himself by tormenting them Most of those, however, became braver as time passed. The old-timers were the boldest, and annoyed the hell out of him. He hated dealing with them the most.. Since newsies came and went, Focks generally had a variety of 'wimpys' and 'boldys', but usually more of the latter than the former.  
  
Knowing that there were kids who weren't scared of him didn't help his ego much, which in turn didn't do wonders for his mood, either. If Focks could only look at the kids' lives through their eyes, he probably wouldn't be very surprised that a lanky, bitter man who spent his day behind a newspaper distribution counter didn't scare them much.  
  
Serce was an 'in-betweeny'. She didn't get much of a kick out of giving Focks a hard time, like some of the others did; but she also sure as hell never let him intimidate her. It was a clash of tempers each time they met, one that neither of them looked forward to. This made their encounters always start off on a lousy foot.  
  
Looking up from his grimy nails which he had been studying intensely, Focks sighed loudly as he saw her approaching. "Whatcha want, ey?" he asked rudely. Serce looked him square in the eye and plunked down her papers on the counter, making it shake. "What da hell d'ya think?" was her reply. Focks had had an unusually boring day and was in the mood for a little teasing; "Eyes biggah den your hands, ey? Couldn't sell what ya took, ey?" That 'ey' thing of his got on everyone's nerves, but today especially, it made Serce twitch. "My money. Now." "Ooooh, touchy touchy, ey?", he snickered, visibly amusing himself greatly with her foul mood.  
  
Serce noticed what he was doing immediately, and though she was tired, she wasn't too tired to teach him a lesson. She continued to hold his gaze, but he now thought something in her eyes changed. They seemed a bit softer, perhaps even.inviting. A little smile formed on her lips. "You must git lonely heah, spendin' da whole day by yerself," she whispered barely loud enough for him to hear, "dontcha?" Focks gulped and almost swallowed his filthy tobacco, but couldn't manage to mouth any words, just sort of gave a nod. Suddenly the girl's dirty blonde hair didn't seem so dirty anymore, and instead of skinny, he saw her body as slender. Serce could barely control the laughter inside of her, seeing the man starting to wiggle in his seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she finally found the perfect weapon of assault: a cup of steaming coffee. She moved closer to him, leaning over the counter and running her fingers over the collar of her shirt. That was all that it took for him to gawk and not dare take his eyes away from her neck; which was just what she intended, since it freed her other hand to move close to the coffee without his noticing. She needed to keep talking though, "Ya know, sometimes it gits perdy lonely on dose streets out dere, too.all dose people walkin' about, no one seems ta have da time to stop an' chat. or do oddah t'ings." His breathing became hard and a shiver started to go through his body, dangerously reaching underneath his waist. Serce noticed the bulge and almost blew her cover, the urge to burst out laughing was so great. Shaking her head to relieve herself of the comic tension, she seemed to turn him on even more because he thought this was part of her seductive act. Finally, her hand reached the coffee cup and, just as he was halfway up and about to grab her, one swift movement tipped the hot liquid all over the desk, dripping onto his trousers. It wasn't enough to burn him, but that wasn't her intention anyway.  
  
Focks gave a loud screech and sat back down, cowering like a hurt animal. "Should've been sumtin cold, ta keep junior over there from getting' any moah excited!" Serce blasted out in a wave of laughter. "Now gimme my money." He practically hissed at her as he counted out her coins. "You'll pay fer dat, ya heah me? Ey? Ya will. just ya wait." A clatter sounded as he shoved her money across the counter and a few pennies fell on the floor. "Aaaw, pooah thing, got ya all excited fer not'in. sorry fer dat," Serce chuckled as she picked up the coins and walked away, "ey?" she couldn't help adding before disappearing to the left of the gates.  
  
Terrance Focks stood up, cursing, and trying to wipe the mess the girl had made. "She'll pay.she'll pay." he kept on repeating. But he didn't even convince himself of what he was saying, he just said it to feel better. Part of the reason why he kept his job, even though he hated it so much, was that his dim wits couldn't get him a better one. So he couldn't really waste his time planning revenge on a streetwise teenager for getting him aroused.. 


	6. Peaceful Sleep

Serce was rather jolly after her little episode with Focks at the DC. The darkened streets of old New York C didn't even look so gloomy as she traced her steps along to the lodging house. She paused outside the door for a minute, just letting all the sounds come to her before she went in to them. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her way inside, content with the jingling of coins in her trouser pocket. Sure, half of it was money she had this morning, not money she made during the day but hey, whatever wasn't a loss was a gain to her.  
  
A blonde figure was rushing by the stairs, laughing madly at something that remained invisible to the naked -rather the untrained, eye. Serce smiled at the boy's vivid amusement and caught him by the shirt cuff before he passed her by. "Heya Dutchboy," she started jokingly, "whatcha doin'?" Dutchy attempted to catch his breath and reply at the same time, "I'se jist. messin' around wid someone." "Not easy to tell," Serce replied ironically, while scanning the rest of the place for someone. "Lookin' fer yer feisty lil' friend?" Dutchy inquired laughingly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. A look of astonishment came into Serce's eyes. "Glittah?" she asked in disbelief, "dat 'scared lil' bundle', as Cowboy put it?" Dutchy nodded enthusiastically. "Yup, dat's her. Almost ran me ovah, den gave me a daggah look and spiky words because she t'ought I said boys can't sew. Must be off attackin' someone else." With that and a wink, he dashed off before Serce had time to let all of this sink in. Glittah? she thought to herself, still not understanding. All of a sudden Snoddy burst out of nowhere, knocking her, and any further wonderings, to the ground with a loud war whoop.  
  
A different hue of blonde hair and a rather feminine voice pronouncing an "OOOF!" were what made him notice that he hadn't tackled Dutchy. "SERCE!" he practically screamed, "SORRY!". "Gah!! Snoddy what da hell are ya screamin' in my eah for?" she replied. Sheepishly, he got up and extended an embarrassed hand towards her. She hesitated for a moment, glancing at his hand, then helped herself up. It wasn't meant as an insult, and he didn't take it as one. An awkward moment of silence ensued, till he broke it with the question he must've been dying to ask, "Have you." "He went dat way," she replied with a point of her finger. Almost instantly, Snoddy fled in the same direction, thanking her over his shoulder. "Sheesh. Less den five minutes in dis nut hole are enough to see dat some t'ings'll nevah change." she said with a chuckle.  
  
An unusual sight caught her attention: behind the front desk, the door to Kloppmann's room was ajar. What was unusual about this was the fact that that door always seemed to be either fully open, or fully shut. Never in between. Curiosity overtaking her, she crossed the short distance to the door and paused outside it for a moment. Deep breathing and an ever-so-soft snoring could be heard, if one were to stop and listen, as she was doing. It was so muffled, though, that she believed she was the first and only person to have noticed it so far. Ever so quietly, she poked the door so that it would open just a little bit more. Inside, fast asleep with her head lightly tilted on the bed, Glitter sat on the floor. Some sort of attempted needlework lay beside her; Serce recognized it as being the ratty old dress Glitter had been wearing when she first found her.  
  
The girl was a contrasting image of peace, carelessly sleeping in such an awkward manner. Last night hadn't been a very restful one for her; all the girls in the bunkroom had heard her soft crying very late into the night. Seeing her sleeping here, now, showed not only that she was as tired as she refused to admit in the morning, but that she had finally let her guard down a bit. Serce took this as a good sign, sighing with relief. As Jack had guessed, she felt responsible for Glitter in some way or other, and was prepared to take her on as a sister. It was odd how she knew the girl for less than 48 hours, but felt like she had known her for her whole life. She turned to leave but accidentally kicked the door on her way out, making a rather loud noise in the, until then, rather quiet room. "Dang it!" she muttered under her breath, turning to see if she had disturbed Glitter's sleep.  
  
Hearing the sound, the younger girl woke up with a jerk, looking around the room hurriedly. "Wh-who's there?" she stammered. Serce poked her head back inside and flashed her a smile. "Hey kid," she said gently, "whadda ya hear, whadda ya say?" Glitter rubbed the sleep from her eyes and attempted to smile back, "Serce! You're back.what time is it?" "It's aftah dark," Serce replied, taking a seat on the bed. Glitter got up and hastily balled up her dress, half-concealing it behind her back. The tired newsie understood what she was doing, and asked no questions. There was no point in pushing the subject, really; if she wanted to talk, she'd talk. "So, how was the rest of the working day?" Glitter inquired. "Not so great," Serce responded with a sigh, "but it's all taken care of now."  
  
The question reminded her of the decision she had made earlier on, about Glitter having to work the streets with her tomorrow. She didn't really know how to break it to her, though, and wasn't really in the mood for trying at the moment. "Say, I'se starvin'. Ya wanna see if dere's anyt'in left ta eat in that big mess hall dey call a kitchen?" Now it was Glitter's turn to flash a smile. "I'd love to. I just have to put these things away and, I'll be there in a minute, okay?" "Shoah, see ya dere." Serce left the room, while Glitter stayed behind and tidily put away the needle and rest of thread.  
  
A rapid glance at her dress would tell her not only that she had slept for a long time, and worked for little, but that she just had to admit the article was beyond repair. It would just have to be put away somewhere, kept merely for treasuring sake. She did decide, however, that she was at least going to wash it, so it could be kept nice and clean. "Hmm..maybe I should go ask Mr. Blondie where the soap for washing clothes is." she thought to herself, and giggled. Just before turning out the lamp, and leaving the room, she stopped and stared back in another brief moment of marvel at the humble and simple, yet timeless and priceless 'decoration'.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 


End file.
